


Where there's smoke

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-12
Updated: 2008-02-12
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://slartibartfast.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://slartibartfast.livejournal.com/"><b>slartibartfast</b></a>; Clumsy romance, flashbacks, sexual tension</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where there's smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2008 Firefly Slashathon. Xiexie to [](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/)**lvs2read** for the beta check

He can still smell it. He's rinsed his hair through as many times as he can with the limited water available on Serenity, he's changed his clothes, he's stripped himself naked in the chill air of his bare room in the passenger quarters and scrubbed hard at his skin until it's glowing pink and slightly sore, and he can still smell woodsmoke. Right now, he'd give anything for a shower, unlimited hot water, and a decent laundry service to take away every scrap of clothing he's been wearing, and the same for River, but life's changed. Now, he can't send the clothes away. Now, he's going to need to launder them himself, and then wear them again, and pretend that he can't still smell woodsmoke with every movement he makes.

“Simon?”

Pausing, he glances automatically towards the door, in the direction of the voice. He can't see anyone. The door's still closed, or nearly, the faintest slice of light shining through from the passage beyond. A man, that much is for sure. Not Jayne. Not the captain. Which leaves either Book or Wash, and Simon's fairly certain that it isn't Book, since he's already managed to offend the Shepherd. He doesn't have much patience for religion after the villagers' religious fervor nearly caused his sister's death.

“Wash?” he asks uncertainly. “Did you need me?”

Tiān a, he hopes not. Of course, if he needs to focus and work, he can and will do so, but... “Is it River, is she all right?”

The man outside seems to take that as an invitation to come in, sliding the door back and stepping into the room before closing it behind him. Wash turns, stares, freezes, and then backs right up against the door. “Whoa. Simon, you, uh, might wanna...”

It's a few seconds before Simon realizes what Wash is referring to, and he can feel the heat of the blush sweeping up from his chest to dye his cheeks a deep scarlet as he snatches his robe, clumsy in his haste to cover himself, hide from Wash's rather too interested gaze. “River,” he repeats, tying the belt and tugging the fabric closed over his chest. “Is she...?”

“No, no!” Wash looks horrified for a moment, then glances down at the bowl of water on the floor, and grins a little. “She's fine. Everyone's fine.”

Simon nods slowly. He should be feeling more awkward about the fact that Wash just saw him naked, but he simply doesn't have the energy, emotional or physical. And he can still smell woodsmoke on his hair, dripping with the water into his face, trickling down into his eyes to sting.

“Except you, huh?” Wash observes, moving further in and skirting the bowl, taking hold of Simon's shoulders and steering him towards the bed. “I thought so, I saw it at dinner and I said to myself, I said, Wash, that man's going to need rest, and peace, and some time to himself.”

Letting himself be pushed down until he's sitting on the bed, Simon looks up at Wash, slightly bemused. “The last time I checked, Wash, time to myself didn't involve you.” He hears it spill out into the room, winces, and lifts a hand to cover Wash's where it still rests on his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Wash, I didn't mean...”

Wash slips his hand out from under Simon's and pats him absently, moving to sit next to him, closer to the pillows. “Hey, it's okay. You should hear some of the things Zoe says, and she's not even been close to being barbecued. Well, except that one time and that really was an accident and if Mal hadn't made such a fuss about it, she'd have been fine, I mean, it was only hair, it grew back, right? Right?”

Since a verbal response doesn't seem to be required, Simon nods again, even more confused.

“Right!” Wash beams at him, and stands up, looking around until he spies a towel which he vigorously applies to Simon's head. The cloth moving around his ears is enough to muffle the flow of words to a background hum, no sense to the sound, until the towel retreats and Simon's faced with Wash looking at him hopefully.

He's got absolutely no clue what Wash expects from him, or even what Wash has just said. “...Yes?” he ventures doubtfully, rather than try asking Wash to repeat himself.

It seems to be the right answer, from the expression on Wash's face. A smile that's softer than before, more hesitant, as Wash leans down, strong, callused hands cupping Simon's face, rough fingers working into his hair. “Yes,” Wash repeats softly, and kisses him.

Simon's still not sure what the question was, but he's sure of the answer.

Yes.


End file.
